Take My Dress Off (6 page)

“Jesus, Mary, Mother-of-God!” he winced and slipped on his shades.

The van took us over to the convention center and since we were late we picked through what was left of the breakfast bar…some dried out muffins and coffee.

“This is shit,” complained Donny as we sat at a small round table. “I need real food. I need eggs and pancakes and pounds of greasy bacon.”

“Hangover food,” said Danielle.

“You are correct.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows. “Do we have time to slip outta here?”

“No,” Danielle and I barked in unison.

I looked over to Chaz who seemed distant and quiet. He held a Styrofoam cup in his hand, sipping on his coffee slowly.

“Hey,” I smiled to him. “You okay?”

“Sure, just really tired,” he offered weakly.

“Hair of the dog?” asked Donny. He reached back to the empty table behind us and grabbed a half-empty bottle of champagne. “Paige, grab some OJ from the buffet.” I fetched the carafe of juice and some plastic cups. Donny quickly mixed up the drinks.

“Mimosas, my friends. This will perk us right up.” He distributed cups of the bubbly juice to each of us.

“Ugh,” scoffed Danielle. “How can you drink so early in the morning?”

“It’s medicinal,” replied Donny. I took a few sips but it made me nauseous. Chaz gazed at the orange bubbly liquid for a moment then set the cup down. Donny seemed to be the only one who needed it.

“Drink up, Chaz,” said Donny pouring himself another mimosa.

Chaz shook his head.

“C’mon,” encouraged Donny. “Quit being a little bitch.”

A large Hispanic woman in a long, flowing, red dress strutted into the room. She was heavily made-up with dark hair piled onto her head. She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted: “Models, please meet your stylists at their stations.”

“Showtime, guys,” I sang and rose from my chair.

Donny, being Donny, picked up each of our cups and downed what was left of the mimosas.

It was a long morning. We had to sit for two hours in the small styling room before it was time for
Nexus
to present. The boys went first then it was our turn. Our hair was washed and blow-dried, our make-up applied, then we were all dressed in black from head to toe. Tight, black, mini-dresses for the girls, black shirts, ties, and slacks for the guys. Finally, we were up on the stage. Trent quickly parted my hair and clipped up the sections. He combed each section down and ran the too-hot crimping iron over it. I could hear my hair sizzle as he talked into a microphone explaining what he was doing. Danielle was in the chair facing me getting her hot-pink streaked hair curled, her eyes getting bigger every time her chair was spun to face my direction. There were no mirrors on the stage so I had no idea what Trent was doing to me. I glanced over to where Donny and Chaz were waiting off stage. Donny beamed and gave me a “thumbs up” sign, Chaz just stared blankly and I wondered if he hated my hairstyle. His hair had been styled into a pompadour and he was striking with his blond hair contrasting the black clothing.

Finally, Trent was finished. He dramatically pulled the black smock from me like a magician with his cape and presented his creation. I looped arms with him and we strutted down the runway in step with the music to applause and whistles. Trent stopped and I continued, turning slowly at the end of the ramp. I returned and waited with Trent as Raphael and Danielle took their turn. Donny and Chaz strutted up behind us and we posed as camera flashes went off. We all walked to the end of the ramp, turned, and headed back. Trent and Raphael took a bow then we all exited the stage as the stylists said their thanks.

“Damn, Paige, you are fierce with that hair,” said Donny as we walked down the hallway and headed back to the styling room to change into our clothes and get our vouchers signed.

“It feels huge!”

“Wait till you see it,” teased Danielle.

“I don’t like that tone, Dan,” scolded Donny.

I turned to Chaz, “Is it really bad?”

“No.” He leaned down and whispered, “In fact, I think it’s pretty fucking sexy,” he smiled and narrowed his eyes. I blushed and chills tingled down my spine. I thought about him running his hands through my crazy hair.

When we got to the stylist’s room I ran up to the mirror at Trent’s station. My long hair’s length had been reduced by a few inches from the crimping. It was huge and full. I looked like the freaking MGM lion!

“Wow,” I said and ran my hands through the kinky strands.

Trent came up behind me. “Don’t wash it for a few days, honey. The iron dries it out. It needs to build up oils again.”

“Okay, thanks,” I replied.
Thank you for turning me into a lion, Trent.
He picked up his tools and began cleaning up the work station.

When we were given the go-ahead to leave we picked up our vouchers and dragged ourselves to the limo waiting in the tunnel. Donny and Danielle crawled onto one side, Chaz and I on the other. Donny leaned his back against the dark window and threw his black jean-clad legs over Danielle’s knees as she slumped down in the seat.

Chaz draped his arm around me and I snuggled against his strong body. “How are you doing, kid?” he asked.

“Okay,” I sighed as my heavy eyes closed.

“These hair shows will be the death of me,” Donny grumbled. The limo ascended out of the cool darkness of the tunnel and into the harsh light of the bright July Sunday. Donny slipped on his shades and we were all asleep in a matter of minutes.

Chaz crawled
into my heart that summer. He made me laugh to the point of tears and he loved to cruise the mall with me. I think he loved shopping more than I did.

“Are you sure Chaz isn’t like, bisexual?” dropped Danielle casually one day when we were lying around drinking cherry limeades from Rocket’s and watching videos on MTV.

“Danielle, don’t be such a dork. Of course he’s not. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Oh my God,
Reflex
is on! Turn it up, I love Duran Duran!” she squealed. I fumbled with the remote. “John Taylor is so gorgeous I can’t stand it!” she cried and sat closer to the TV. “Dillon does look like him, doesn’t he?” Danielle dug around with the straw in her drink for the cherry.

“Could you not say the D word?” I scowled. “Actually,” I squinted at the TV. “Donny looks more like John Taylor than…you know who.”

“Donny’s bisexual.” She popped the cherry into her mouth.

“What?” I gasped.

“Donny. You know, Dillon’s brother, senior babe of the Hunter brothers?” She plucked the cherry stem from her teeth.

“Yes, I am familiar with Donny, duh? Who told you that?”

“No one, it’s a given. He’s not trying to hide it.”

“He’s just flamboyant…and dramatic,” I scowled. Though it was beginning to make sense as I mentally scrolled through every encounter I’d ever had with Donny. Most recently, dressed as a transvestite at the drive-in.

“All of those cute guys he brought with him to the summer show…fags. All of them. They’re not shy about it either.”

“Victor Munoz?”

“Gay.”

“Jeff Mackey?”

“Gay.”

“Rob, Bill, Chris?”

“Gay, gay, gay,” she said in between mouthfuls of ice.

“Oh. My. God!” I gasped and pursed my lips.

“Hey?  Didn’t Chaz show up with them?” she smirked.

I tried to process what she had said. “That doesn’t mean anything. Dillon hangs out with Chaz and he’s definitely not like that.”

“Dillon tolerates Chaz because he’s Donny’s friend.”

“Danielle, I’m not having this ridiculous conversation with you.” I slid off the couch and stormed into the kitchen. The phone started ringing and I tossed my cup into the trash.

“Hey, what are you doing?” greeted Chaz.

“Hi Chaz,” I glared over to Danielle putting emphasis on his name. “Danielle and I are hanging out but she was just leaving,” I smirked over to Danielle. She responded by flipping me off. I turned into the wood paneled wall, twirling the orange plastic phone cord in my fingers as I discretely finished my phone call.

“He’s coming over, he’s bored.”

“Alone or with someone?” Danielle asked, her eyebrows raised.

“He didn’t say. Alone I guess. Who would he bring?”

“I don’t know. Donny?”

“Don’t you need to be somewhere?”

“Well then. I’ll be moseying along, don’t want to ruin your
date
,” she smirked as she pushed off the sofa. “Besides, I have to get to work.”

“It’s not a date, we’re just hanging out.”

“I’m sure in your mind it is,” she chewed on her straw and walked to the door. “You’ll turn this into something it isn’t, blow it out of proportion, call me crying about it as you write in your Precious Moments diary.”

“Please leave.” I held open the door.

“Bring him by the store later, we can watch him shop.”

“Piss off.” I flipped her off as she walked to her car. “My new car’s better than yours, bitch,” I called after her.

“Duh,” snorted Danielle as she climbed into her pea green Comet. It belched smoke as she backed down the driveway.

Twenty minutes later Chaz was standing in Maddie’s formal living room. “Nice house.” He turned around taking it in. He was wearing a bright green polo, collar up, brown braided leather belt, Levi’s 501 jeans and topsiders. He was a total Adonis.

“Not as nice as yours,” I said as I led him through the kitchen to the family room.

“It’s okay.” He sat right where Danielle had been. The seat was probably still warm from her fat ass.

“You live on an estate in Fallbrook, you have a pool, shut up.”

“I’d hardly call it an estate, more like a ranch I guess,” he blushed. We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on Maddie’s red velvet sofa watching old reruns and eating dry Captain Crunch out of the box.

“The Brady Bunch is so lame,” he commented. “No one really wore those clothes in the seventies.”

“I bet you did,” I chided. “I’m sure there are pictures of you somewhere in a butterfly collared shirt and bell bottoms.”

“As if!” He reached into the cereal box, picked through the cereal and lifted out a handful.

“Hey, don’t eat all the crunch berries,” I whined and plucked the box out of his hands.

“If you had to pick one Brady boy to go out with which one would you pick?” he crunched.

“Are you serious?” I asked digging through the cereal for the remaining berries.

“Yeah. C’mon, who?”

I found the prize and tossed it to Chaz. “I guess, Greg.”

“So typical,” Chaz sang. He tore open the envelope concealing the prize. It was one of those plastic glow-in-the-dark rings.

“Why?” I asked. “Greg seems nice and he can sing. Peter is whiny and selfish and Bobby is, of course, too young.”

Chaz leaned back into the pillows and slipped the plastic ring onto his pinky finger. “They’re like the Hunter brothers. Donny is Greg, Dillon is Peter, and Davy is Bobby,” he laughed.

“Davy? They have another brother?”

“Yeah, he’s younger and looks just like them.”

“That’s right,” I nodded, the image of their family portrait in the hall coming back to me. “Jesus, they’re like Russian nesting dolls,” I muttered as I sat back against the sofa.

“I’m sorry.” Chaz rolled toward me and took my hands into his. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. You won’t be seeing Davy anytime soon, he’s with their parents in New Zealand.”

“New Zealand? Are you kidding me?” Dr. Hunter was a professor at San Diego State. He was probably writing another book.

“Donny said his parents left last week on a sabbatical. They won’t be back until May. Donny and Dillon are watching the house.”

“Oh my God, that’s a terrible idea! That house is fantastic and they will trash it!”

“You’ve been in it?” asked Chaz.

I had never actually walked through the main part of the home, only glanced in awe before Dillon led me down the stairs to his lair.

“Sure,” I replied. “Have you?”

“Yep,” he said and turned his attention back to the Brady Bunch.

Dillon’s father had designed the house himself. It was up in the hills and was very well known, a modern, Frank Lloyd Wright style of house with three stories and the entire back walls were made of glass. It had a spiral Plexiglass staircase that went straight through the middle of the house and wrapped almost invisibly around a floor to ceiling chandelier made of hanging metal bars and glass. Everything was white, metal, or glass from the marble tile to the thick shag carpet and the furniture. The boys shared the first floor. It was essentially a basement and more traditional with three bedrooms, a large recreation room with wood paneled walls, a small kitchen, and a bathroom.

I sat up and went over to the built-in book shelves. I searched the spines of books before finding what I was looking for.

“What’s that?”

“Vista Elementary yearbook.” I carried it to the breakfast bar and flipped through the glossy black and white pages. “How old is the little Hunter brother?”

“They’re all three years apart.” Chaz came up and glanced at the book over my shoulder. He smelled delicious, a mixture of Ivory soap and Polo cologne. I felt that familiar heat rising up my neck and leaned back against him.

“There’s Donny,” I giggled as we looked at his sixth grade class. His bangs were really short and he was looking to the side. He looked retarded.

“You and Dillon would have been in third grade so that would have put Davy in kindergarten.” He flipped through the kindergarten pages. “Ha-ha! Look, there he is,” pointed Chaz. He did look like a mini-Dillon-mini-Donny. Well I’ll be damned, there was another one coming up to rip out the hearts of unassuming girls.

“Let’s find you.” He reached for the book but I held my hands firmly over the pages, pressing the book to the counter.

“No way, I look as retarded as Donny.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” said Chaz sincerely. “C’mon, I bet you were adorable in third grade.” He popped the book open and I waited as he scanned the little freckled faces, waiting for him to find me. He brought one hand to his face, shielding his smile as he pointed at my picture with the other.

“You’re so mean, Chaz, stop.”

“Aw, you’re cute with those pigtails.” He leaned into my back. “You’re still cute.” I turned and glared at him over my shoulder. “Especially when you’re mad,” he added and pinched my sides. “Where’s Dillon?” he asked as he scanned the pictures.

“How long have you been friends with Dillon?” I asked.

“I’m friends with Donny, not Dillon.”

“Oh, well he was in a different class.” I flipped to Mrs. Philo’s page, Dillon’s third grade teacher. Dillon smiled back with that casual confidence through long bangs all dark and brooding. Even in third grade he had it.

Chaz closed the book. “Want to go to the mall?” he asked still leaning against my back.

“Chaz?” I looked up to his chin.

“Paige?”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Chaz was silent for a moment then ran his hands over my shoulders and down to my wrists. “Because she would be jealous of you,” he whispered into my ear. I froze as he nuzzled his cheek against mine, soft stubble scratching my delicate skin.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend, Paige?” he whispered. He was breathing as heavily I was. I could feel the heat transferring from him onto my back. My heart pounded and adrenaline surged through my body. I was so surprised, I had dreamed about it for hours on end, but now that it was happening, I didn’t know what to do. Chaz was touching me and I couldn’t move. He raked his hands through my hair and pulled my head back. “Well?”

“Yes!”

Chaz slipped the Captain Crunch ring onto my finger and I giggled.

He softly kissed down my exposed neck. I reached up for him but he backed away. “C’mon, let’s go to the mall and cool off. It’s hotter than hell in here and I could use some new school clothes.”

And that was it. I had a boyfriend.

***

While Chaz browsed through jeans in Miller’s Outpost I chatted with Danielle about my new status as Chaz Serna’s girlfriend.

“I don’t know, Paige. I get this vibe, there’s something about him...” We stood at a round metal clothing rack and she pretended to straighten shirts.

“Like what?” I asked and held up a shirt, feigning interest.

She looked over at Chaz as he dug through a pile of Levi’s, her eyes narrowing. “He’s too…perfect.”

I shook my head and put the shirt back on the rack.  She was so cynical at times.

“What in the hell is that on your hand?” she asked.

I blushed as I looked down at the plastic ring. “Chaz put it on my finger when he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“How romantic. So are you, like, going steady?” she asked in a valley girl voice.

“Like, for sure,” I replied. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

Chaz followed two sales girls over to the dressing room as they subtly competed for his attention.

“He’s too nice and too pretty,” Danielle scowled, her dark eyebrows knotting together.

“He’s not pretty,” I scoffed. “He’s beautiful, but not pretty. I think you don’t like him because he went to Fallbrook High…”

“Ugh, Gaybrook High.”

***

After Chaz’s shopping spree we went to his house to swim. I grabbed some shopping bags from the back seat of his car and headed up the path to the front porch.

“C’mon, this way,” Chaz called heading to the side of the house.

“Back door?” I asked.

“No, I live in the guest house ‘round back.” I followed him through a black wrought iron gate to a large back yard. The main house had a long tiled porch with Spanish arches that spanned the length of the house. There were several seating groups of heavy iron chairs housed on the porch. Parallel to the porch was a huge rectangular pool. The same iron chairs clustered around the pool. The guest house was on the opposite side of the pool and reflected the Spanish style of the main house. I followed Chaz through a single French door into the guest house.

“Your parents let you live out here by yourself?”

“Yup,” he said, leading me past a small sofa.

“This is seriously cool,” I said spinning slowly, taking it all in. There was a small living room with a stone fireplace, a galley kitchen, a bedroom with a queen size bed, and a rustic wooden door opened to a small bathroom.